These days I’m undecided on veterinarian school. Journalism feels pretty enticing too, but either way, this internship with Dr. Bryner is exactly what my college applications need. And I get to snuggle puppies and kitties. It’s a win-win, if you ask me. But moments like these with this poor creature are the kind of things I have to force myself to forget every night before bed. Along with the looming reality of how Grandma Lou and I will even manage to pay for school at all or if I can bring myself to leave her when the time comes. She acts tough, but we only have each other, and I can’t imagine leaving her alone, especially as she gets older. For now, the best I can do is handle life one bite-size piece at a time, and this internship seems like a good place to start.
Dr. Bryner is careful to handle the catatonic dog herself. She doesn’t want me holding him if and when he wakes up startled. Even the nicest dogs can bite given the right circumstances.
“Could be a seizure,” she says, locking him in one of the crates by the exam table, where we keep all the animals who are under medical observation.
“You don’t think someone dumped him, do you?” I ask as I make my way back to Carley to give her coat one last rinse before I dry her off.
“It’s not right,” she says. “But it happens all the time. Sometimes things happen, and these days families can barely pay their own medical bills, let alone those of their pets.”
My gut reaction is to say that those people shouldn’t have pets, but I guess if I judged worthy pet owners by who could afford a trip to the actual emergency room at a moment’s notice, there wouldn’t be a very large pool of potential pet owners left to choose from. After the last six months, I’ve learned that life isn’t as black-and-white as I always thought it was.
After I finish up with Carley’s bath and then Bumble’s, I hover at the front desk to write down my hours for today in my intern folder.
Dr. Bryner plops down in the rolling chair behind the intake desk and crosses her endlessly long legs. I can’t say for sure, but I think she’s well over six feet tall. She keeps her hair cropped so short, and every few weeks you can see strands of gray curling around her ears. Her deep brown skin and delicate features require zero makeup, and I’ve even heard some of the vet techs say she used to model in college. “You okay?” she asks. “That was a little intense.”
I nod. “Yeah. It was intense, but I’m fine.” I mean, I’m sure I’m going to have nightmares about an army of catatonic dogs or at the very least wake up with a guilt hangover over him and every other dog that’s too far gone for us to help.
“You’ve been doing a great job here,” she says, rubbing her eyes. “Kit’s always harping on me about how I only say something when people mess up, so don’t take it too personally if you feel like I’m not giving feedback. But I’ll try to remember.”
My cheeks warm. There’s something about Dr. Bryner that reminds me of my mom. A little moody and a little too serious about the things she loves, but like Mom, her affection feels a little bit like an adrenaline rush, because it’s so sparing in the first place.
It’s why, ever since Mom and Dad died, I’ve done everything I can not to hold back with my feelings. Whether it’s a friend or Grandma Lou or a podcast or TV show, I love the things I love and I want there to be no mistake about that. They both loved the same nerdy things, especially that first generation of The Grove, but Mom was the type who would sit around and debate its merit or value and Dad was content just to love it exactly as it was served to him. I guess I’m more like Dad in that way.
Dr. Bryner wipes her brow with the back of her hand. “How about you finish up closing duties? I’m good here. I’m just going to stick around and keep an eye on that guy for a bit longer.”
“You got it, Doc.” I quickly gather up all the trash and take it out back to our alleyway, kicking a loose brick in between the back door and frame so it doesn’t close on me.
After I haul the bags into the dumpster, a strong gust of wind swings the lid shut.
A small blue egg falls to the pavement right in front of me, making an awful splatting noise. “Poor baby,” I say to myself.
I look up just in time to see a bird’s nest plummeting to the ground. Before I even realize it, I push off from the ground with such buoyancy you’d think the earth was one giant trampoline. Holding my hands out, I beg my body to obey my will, and I catch the bird’s nest just barely.
I chuckle to myself as I look down to the alleyway six feet or so below me. Cupped in my hands is a tiny nest with three small eggs inside. I know better than to touch eggs or baby birds, but I didn’t have very many options here. Floating up to the rooftop, I tuck the nest under the lip of the roof in the hopes that I haven’t done any damage to the birds or the nest.
“Good luck, little ones,” I whisper. “A hero’s work is never done.”
I step up onto the ledge of the old office building housing the vet clinic and let my lungs fill with crisp, early evening air. Except I’m no hero. Not really. Just a total fangirl possessing a recently discovered superpower. I’ve spent so many years gobbling up TV shows and comics and books and anything I could get my hands on that fed my insatiable desire for there to be something more to this life. Something bigger. Something super.
With no one around to see and no reason to try and control a power I haven’t even fully grasped, I swan-dive into the alley and for a moment, I can feel the wind whistling past my ears. It’s dangerous and invigorating, and even though I don’t know what the heck I’m doing, I never want it to stop. Suddenly pavement is inches from my nose and I bail, somersaulting to the ground, landing square on my back.
I groan and hiss as I wiggle my fingers and toes. At least I didn’t lose any limbs in the process, but that’s going to leave a bruise. The sliver of blue sky above me is a faint memory all too quickly. A dark blue bird soars overhead, landing on the ledge above and chirping chaotically until she finds most of her eggs safe and sound.
I sit up, eyeing the shattered egg a few feet to my left. “Sorry, little guy.” Peter’s words echo in my ears. The same words he told me over and over again as he and Kris drove me back to Glenwood, careful to use only back roads. Can’t save them all, he said. You can’t save them all, Faith. That’s the most important thing I’ll ever tell you.
I shake my head, trying to erase the memories. I wish my brain was like an Etch A Sketch and all you had to do was shake your head to start over again.
After saying good night to Dr. Bryner, I head out to my car—well, Grandma Lou’s car—a maroon Kia Rio with multiple honor-roll stickers plastered to the bumper. On the drive home I listen to my latest discovery, an out-of-production podcast called Hellmouth Grove hosted by two fangirl sisters named Bea and Suze, who spend every episode breaking down all the ways Margaret Toliver’s The Grove influenced Joss Whedon’s Buffy. It’s meta in the best possible way.
All Paws on Deck is only about fifteen minutes from home on the opposite side of town in Old Glenwood, where the houses seem nice enough on the outside, but you only have to pause a moment for a closer look. Cracked windows, overgrown shrubbery, weeds shooting through cracks in driveways, even a few eviction notices taped on doors, and roofs looking like they might just slide right off. The less desirable streets dead-end into shady apartment complexes where you don’t want to get stuck after dark. Old Glenwood is like a storm cloud gradually moving through the rest of the town, choking out the light as it spreads slowly like a disease.